Spider in your mind
by DoYouMindIfISlytherin
Summary: At the beginning of Harry Potter's forth year, the Dark Lord decides to take a different approach in returning to his full strength, and in doing so discovers something rather interesting, setting the Boy Who Lived down a drastically changed path. Dark!Harry, slash LV/HP.
1. Wait, I have a better idea

(_A/N: I'm not even going to bother explaining myself this time. Its gonna keep happening, no matter how I resist. This one came from rereading the forth book and listening to a song called fly on the wall. LT has been incredibly hard for me to write lately, and these little tangents I keep going on are my way of inspiring myself. I do plan to finish it, and I hope you'll all bear with me. Eventual slash, more warnings as necessary, because I'm not sure what other mature themes will be involved here. Also, disclaiming everything and everyone you recognise.)_

"There is a little more in the bottle, my Lord, if you are still hungry."

The Dark Lord glanced at the ever cowering form of Wormtail, and cringed.

"Later," He replied, instead of spitting on the rat like he so wanted to. But he was much more dignified than that.

The ever present and infuriating cold was, as usual, harassing the Dark Lord's small child like form, and Voldemort resisted the shiver that almost overtook him.

"Move me closer to the fire, Wormtail."

The snivelling rat like man placed the bottle clumsily on the floor and crossed the room in jerky motions, as if his body and mind were fighting desperately with each other, and they seemed to be at a stalemate.

The Dark Lord wondered how long it would be before one won out.

He was curious as to whether the small fat man would remain loyal, or try and escape.

_No one ever escapes me, _Voldemort smirked to himself as Wormtail dragged his chair closer to the crackling flames.

"Where is Nagini?" The Dark Lord asked, curious and also slightly worried.

"I – I don't know my Lord."

Voldemort fervently wished his legs were long and strong enough to kick the balding man in the mouth, but that would be undignified, even if he had.

"She set out to explore the house, I think ..." Wormtail finished a moment later, jerking the Dark Lord out of his momentary wish that he weren't so proper.

"You will milk her before we retire, Wormtail,"

"I will need feeding in the night. The journey has tired me greatly." Voldemort was mortified by his current predicament, to be sure. He wasn't sure how much longer he could stand being nursed like an incapable infant.

Wormtail gave a short, jerky nod in response.

"My Lord, may I ask how long we are going to stay here?"

"A week," The Dark Lord replied, glad that the fat man had sense enough not to mention the embarrassing situation they were in.

"Perhaps longer," Voldemort began again after giving more thought to the question.

"the place is moderately comfortable, and the plan cannot proceed yet. It would be foolish to act before the Quiddich World Cup is over."

Wormtail looked confused, and Voldemort had to exert great mental strength to resist the sigh bubbling in his throat.

"The – the Quiddich World Cup, my Lord? Forgive me, but – I do not understand – why should we wait until the World Cup is over?"

"Because, fool, at this very moment wizards are pouring into the country from all over the world, and every meddler from the Ministry of Magic will be on duty, on the watch for signs unusual activity, checking and double-checking identities, lest the Muggles notice anything. So we wait."

Wormtail stared almost blankly at his Lord for a moment, making Voldemort worry about his own patience.

He could easily kill Wormtail in a fit of anger, but then who would feed him? As much as he loathed it, he couldn't kill him.

Yet.

"Your Lordship is still determined, then?" Wormtail whispered, once again drawing the Dark Lord from his own thoughts.

"Certainly I am determined, Wormtail." Voldemort couldn't hide his desire to slaughter the fat man from his voice, though he didn't really give it much effort.

Wormtail remained silent for one blissful moment, probably trying to figure out whether or not he had been threatened. When he spoke again, he sounded braver than usual, and his words came in a rush.

"It could be done without Harry Potter, my Lord."

The Dark Lord had considered this before, and now he considered it again.

He hated this predicament, and would do most anything to be done with it, to have his full strength back. But that was just not possible. Not at this point.

"Without Harry Potter?" The Dark Lord breathed, his voice soft and violent in the same instant. "I see ..."

"My Lord, I do not say this out of concern for the boy!" Wormtail all but shrieked, obviously coming to the wrong conclusion about the Dark Lord's venom.

"The boy is nothing to me, nothing at all! It is merely that if we were to use another witch or wizard – any wizard – the thing could be done so much more quickly! If you allowed me to leave you for a short while – you know that I can disguise myself most effectively – I could be back here in as little as two days with a suitable person -"

"I could use another wizard," The Dark Lord began softly, cutting of the rat man, a tiny, angry smirk forming on his face, "That is true ..."

"My Lord, it makes sense," Wormtail began, relief in his eyes.

"Laying hands on Harry Potter would be so difficult, he is so well protected -" The balding man continued, picking up steam.

"And so you volunteer to go and fetch me a substitute? I wonder … perhaps the task of nursing me has become wearisome for you, Wormtail? Could this suggestion of abandoning the plan be nothing more than an attempt to desert me?" The Dark Lord hid a grim smile, certain now that he was correct in his assumption that Peter would leave him for dead, if his horrified expression was anything to go by.

"My Lord! I have no wish to leave you, none at all -"

"Do not lie to me!" Voldemort hissed, making the fat man stumble back slightly.

"I can always tell, Wormtail! You are regretting that you ever returned to me. I revolt you. I see you flinch when you look at me, feel you shudder when you touch me ..."

"No! My devotion to your Lordship -"

"Your devotion is nothing more than cowardice." Voldemort stated matter of factly.

"you would not be here if you had anywhere else to go. How am I to survive without you, when I need feeding every few hours? Who is to milk Nagini?" The Dark Lord enquired, disgusted with his reliance on this balding fat disgusting man.

"But you seem so much stronger, my Lord-"

"Liar," The Dark Lord breathed, an aching fury was building in his gut, twisting and turning and making his vision blur.

"I am no stronger, and a few days alone would rob me of the little health I have regained under your clumsy care. _Silence!_" Voldemort snapped, as Wormtail had been trying, rudely, to butt in the entire time the Dark Lord had been speaking.

Silence bore down for a long moment, Wormtail remaining quiet and almost sullen after his lecture, and the Dark Lord stewing in the anger that he could do nothing to vent.

After roughly three minutes of uncomfortable quiet, the Dark Lord heard the unmistakable, almost silent hiss of Nagini, and decided she would be the perfect distraction from his still boiling anger.

'_Nagini, precious, come to me. I grow tired of present company.' _

Barely a second later, Nagini nudged the slightly ajar door open further, to fit her massive self through.

_'Tom, there is an old Muggle man behind the door. May I consume him?' _

_'No, at least not yet,' _Voldemort hid his surprise well, though he could scarcely believe that he had been unaware of the Muggle.

It was testament to how far he and his ability had fallen.

"Nagini has interesting news, Wormtail," The Dark Lord said, suppressing his now more prominent anger. If he were honest, there was also shame, buried deep and fuelling the already blinding flames.

"In – indeed, my Lord?"

"Indeed, yes. According to Nagini, there is an old Muggle man standing right out side this room, listening to every word we say."

Wormtail took this as an order to stand and do something.

The rat man opened the door wide, revealing the shocked old man with a walking stick in his hand.

"Invite him inside, Wormtail, where are your manners?"

To both the Dark Lord and Wormtail's surprise, the man stepped into the room, bravery written on his gnarled features.

"You heard everything, Muggle?"

"What's that you're calling me?" The man replied with a question, only serving to poke the angry fire roaring in the Dark Lord's solar plexus.

"I'm calling you a Muggle." Voldemort replied with very convincing calm. "It means you are not a wizard."

"I don't what you mean by wizard," The Muggle said, not bothering to answer the more pressing question that the Dark Lord had asked.

"My wife knows I'm up here, and if I don't come back -"

"You have no wife," Voldemort held back a snigger. "Nobody knows you are here. You told nobody that you were coming. Do not lie to Lord Voldemort, Muggle, for he knows … he always knows ..."

"Is that right?" The Muggle man said gruffly, trying to ignore the violent shiver he felt.

"Lord, is it? Well, I don't think much of your manners, _my Lord. _Turn around and face me like a man, why don't you?"

"But I am not a man, Muggle," The Dark Lord smiled a cold smile, when an idea hit him. And idea so brilliant he was surprised he hadn't thought of it earlier.

"I am much, much more than a man. However … why not? I will face you … Wormtail, come turn my chair around."

the fat man gave a whimper, almost in protest.

"You heard me, Wormtail." The Dark Lord insisted, some of his anger forcing its way into his command.

Wormtail made his way to the chair reluctantly, appearing to avoid the giant snake at all costs, and turned the chair slowly to face the Muggle.

The old man screamed louder than he himself had ever imagined possible, and collapsed in fear. He had never seen anything like what he saw now, sitting before him and glaring like a monster from a horror movie.

"Wormtail," The Dark Lord said when the Muggle's scream had become a whimper,

"Change of plans. It seems that you will be heading out to find me a substitute wizard."

"My – my Lord?" The balding man inquired, confused.

"This Muggle will stay and care for me. Wont you, old man?"

"Wha – what?" Wormtail spluttered. The old man did and said nothing, and had collapsed to his knees, sobbing quietly.

The Dark Lord raised his wand to the Muggle, grinning manically.

"Imperio." His voice bland and uncaring.

The unforgivables were a great strain on his magical reserve, but the Imperio took no more than the killing curse would have, and didn't take much upkeep.

He would force Wormtail into an unbreakable vow, and control the Muggle with his magic.

If all went to plan, which he would make sure it did, he would be at full strength much sooner than he originally thought.

Not long after he finally explained his idea to Wormtail, the Dark Lord became aware of the strangest sensation. Like an almost pleasant tickle in his mind.

He was instantly on full alert. He had never felt anything like it, and it made him nervous.

Was someone in his mind, watching?

If there was, he would find out, and then find them.

No one fooled the Dark Lord.


	2. Faith inside me

_(A/N; Hello. Just a little note to say that after the first part of this chapter, Harry's holiday will carry on as they do in the book, right up until the Quiddich World Cup. From there, things get different. _

_And did any of you find it strange that at the beginning of the fourth book, Voldemort complains about being weak, and then casts the killing curse, no worries? He could have looked after himself, I'm sure there would be a way to milk Nagini with magic. eh. Anyway.)_

* * *

_Evil angel, breaking Benjamin_

_Hold it together, birds of a feather,_

_nothing but lies and crooked wings._

_I have the answer, _

_spreading the cancer,_

_you are the faith inside me._

* * *

Harry awoke with a purr, feeling more rested than he had in a long time. He buried his face into his pillow, mewling when a spike of pleasure raced from his forehead to his toes.

It took him a long second to realise that the pleasure had come from his scar.

He sat up sharply and brought a hand to the lightning bolt, gasping and pulling his hand back when another, less intense jolt raced down his spine.

"What?" He asked no one.

This had never happened. Either the scar remained dormant, or caused immense pain.

It had never caused anything remotely good.

But now it was.

He tried to remember what he had dreamt about, wondering if it may have caused the strange reaction.

All he could remember was feeling extraordinarily pleased with himself, as if he had just thought of the most brilliant idea.

But he hadn't come up with any spectacular epiphany. He'd been sleeping.

He ran a hand across his forehead once more, almost without thinking about it. The barest tingle responded to his fingers.

He wondered if he should tell anyone about this, and instantly decided against it. They would most likely assume that it was a bad thing, but it was probably nothing to worry about. After all, it had caused pleasure, not pain.

Maybe it was a sign that this year was going to be better than the ones before it.

He could only hope so.

* * *

The Quiddich World Cup had ended on a brilliant note, if you asked Harry Potter.

He was currently laying on the top bunk above Ron in the tent Mr. Weasley had brought. He was staring at the fabric roof, watching the few leprechaun lanterns that hadn't retired for the night zooming overhead, picturing some of Krum's more fantastic moves.

He couldn't wait until he was back on his own broom, to test some of the things he had seen that night.

He saw himself in robes with his name in bold on the back, imagining the sensation of hearing a hundred-thousand-strong crowd roar, as Ludo Bagman's voice echoed throughout the stadium, 'I give you … _Potter!' _

Harry wasn't sure whether he was asleep, or halfway there when he felt a gentle probing in his mind.

So gentle, in fact, he hardly noticed it at first.

_Relax, _it told him. So he did. It felt good, anyway. He sunk deeper into his bed and sighed lightly.

It felt as if the force in his mind was rearranging things, making them fit better.

_Such nightmares, it's a wonder you sleep at all. _The voice told him. There was something sickly sweet about its tone that made him feel he should worry. But he did not.

_I don't sleep much. _He replied, not sure if it heard him. He was to tired and dozy to really care.

_I cant imagine that you would, _It purred in response, sounding pleased more than sympathetic.

Harry wondered, drowsily, why he couldn't return to full consciousness. He was trying. He was having the strangest dream.

What felt like the barest second later, he was overcome with a roaring happiness, unlike anything he felt before.

He could have burst into song, if he weren't so very, very tired.

_You feel that, don't you? So strange, that you should feel as I do. _The presence said, though Harry thought it was talking more to itself.

Just as the voice finished speaking, it dug further into Harry's mind, with much more force.

Harry would have yelped in surprise, but he was still asleep. Or maybe, he was awake. He didn't know.

Quick as a flash, Harry was feeling immense shock, so forceful and sudden that it winded him. But he didn't know why.

The shock was quickly replaced with blinding fury, and Harry felt the need to get up and destroy someone, really destroy them, because something, somewhere, had gone horribly wrong. And someone needed to be punished.

_Get up! _The voice suddenly roared at him, and the anger fizzled away enough for Harry to realise that it was not his own.

_Why? _Harry wondered in return, still slightly angry. He wanted to sleep. Not hover on the edge of wakefulness.

_Do as I say! _It snarled, and Harry mentally crossed his arms.

_Why should I? _He growled back, anger still heating his veins.

The presence didn't respond in words, it dug sharply into what felt like the very centre of himself, and pulled something horrible upwards, making Harry feel as though he was going to be sick.

He wanted this dream to end, now.

At the same moment, he felt himself being dragged downwards, into full sleep. He was glad for it. The dream took on a much less real quality, and Harry felt very detached from it now.

He studied the vile thing that the voice had brought forward with a spectators curiosity. It looked a little bit like him, he realised. Though it's face was twisted, horrible and maimed. Harry wondered what it was, and what it was doing in him.

It seemed to be furious. Maybe crazy. It stared back at him with the same intense curiosity for a brief moment, before turning away from the Boy Who Lived, seeming to focus on the presence in his mind.

_Come, come to me,_ The disembodied voice said, and the ghastly creature nodded sharply.

Then Harry fell away from the dream, feeling quite grateful for the peace.

* * *

"Harry!" A voice screamed, seemingly terrified, though Harry was sure it wasn't that important.

"Harry! Where are you going?! We should stick together!" He recognised the voice as belonging to Hermione, and wondered if he should wake up. She usually didn't sound so stressed. But he was so comfortable.

He felt hands shake him hard by the shoulders.

With an odd little jerk, he felt something snap back into himself so quickly it gave him whiplash.

He also realised that he was standing up. And he was no longer in his bed.

Ron was standing in front of him, his hands still on Harry's shoulders. He looked rather concerned. Harry's ears picked up on the sound of screaming, not the happy kind that he had heard earlier that night.

These were of pure terror.

He looked between Ron and Hermione, confused.

How had he gotten into the woods? He didn't sleep walk. Not that he knew of. And why was everyone screaming?

"What happened?" Harry asked, shock seeping into his voice, making it high pitched.

"You don't know?" Hermione asked, looking around herself as she asked it, seeming preoccupied by the screams.

Harry didn't answer, hoping that she would explain anyway.

It was Ron who replied.

"There's people hanging a Muggle family in the air. heaps of 'em. With masks on. And before ..." Ron didn't finish his sentence, instead he looked up at the sky and swallowed audibly.

Harry followed the red heads gaze, and laid eyes on what looked like the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He smiled serenely at the giant green skull in the sky, and felt compelled to tell the snake that was coiling out of its mouth that it was stunning, before he shock his head in disbelief.

Thankfully, it was to dark for his best friends to have seen the blissfully happy grin on his face.

They would have been even more alarmed than he felt right now.

The thing in the sky was obviously not good. It was horribly obscene to be smiling at it.

"What is it?" Harry asked when the shock subsided slightly and he found his voice.

"That's You-Know-Who's mark," Ron whispered, and the fear in his voice was contagious.

"The Dark Mark," Ron continued, as if it was necessary.

Harry felt sick and terrified all at the same instant, making him want to throw up the hot chocolate that he had earlier.

He had smiled warmly at that thing in the sky. The Dark Lord's mark.

And he had no idea what he had been doing in the forest. He had no recollection of why he was there, but he had the oddest sense that it hadn't been a lovely walk in the woods.

He was just about to say something about it, what exactly, he didn't know, but a rustling in the trees not far from them stopped him.

It definitely sounded like more than one person. And they sounded as if they were running.

"Split up! We must find the boy. If not, it's our heads." A voice shouted from a startlingly close distance, and Harry's legs reacted before he even had time to. He was running, hard and fast, sparing only a split second glimpse at his friends to be sure they were keeping up.

He knew that the people running through the woods not far behind, were with out a doubt searching for him.

Every one always was, it seemed.

He didn't want to find out what would happen if they found him.

He willed himself faster, resisting the urge to look behind himself once more, his paranoid mind telling him that they were right behind him, breathing down his neck.

He could hear feet pounding behind him, and he wasn't sure if there were just two sets, or more.

A unbelievably intense surge of anger smashed him in the chest, and he stumbled, full speed face first into the ground with the force of it.

He got a mouthful of dirt and leaves, making him choke. Ron was right behind him, and tried to scoop Harry up as he bolted past, only serving to stumble him further.

"Harry!" Hermione squeaked, turning as she ran, skidding to a stop.

"Get up!"

Harry felt the urge to yell at her, the anger was still strong. He hadn't fallen on purpose, why did she make it sound as if he was being stupid?

He snarled in response, and clamoured to his feet, snatching his fallen glasses up as he did so and shoved them on his face, still spitting the earth from his mouth and wondering if he had broken his nose.

He didn't have time to check.

He bolted once more, overtaking Hermione and Ron quickly, to angry to bother with checking on them.

The fury made him ever faster, his heart beating a tattoo in his chest. His legs felt strange, as if they would give way from the force of the exertion.

He paid them no mind. They had to hold. If not, he was sure to be found.

There was no time to stop and catch his breath. He had more stamina than this, he knew he did. He had to, it wasn't as if he had never run for his life. But for whatever reason, his legs were fighting his every step.

He was tired, furious and terrified.

He had yet to think about where the anger had come from, and still, he couldn't get the image of the Dark Mark from his mind.

After what felt like a lifetime, the trio broke through the trees, and into the complete chaos of the camping grounds.

The screams were so loud here they made his ears ring. Fire and destruction surrounded him completely.

He spared a glimpse behind himself then, and a quick glimpse at the mark in the sky.

This, for whatever reason, placated the anger boiling in his gut. He wiped at his face, finding that his face was covered with dirt and blood. He wasn't sure whether he had cut himself, or it was his nose that was the source of the bleeding.

"We – we should keep moving," Hermione panted, scanning the destroyed camping ground for any sign of someone they knew. No one paid any mind to the dirty and frightened teens that had burst out of the woods, only fending for themselves.

No one they knew magically appeared, and Harry found himself silently agreeing with Hermione. He set a brisk pace into the centre of the camping ground, heading for the tent that he was sure he had been asleep in mere minutes ago.

He didn't know how long he had been in the forest, but it frightened him. He could have easily been found, and the someone who found him could have easily not been Ron and Hermione.

He was thankful for that.

* * *

It was Bill that found them, followed quickly by the twins and Ginny.

The three of them were led back to the tents, the people around them seemed calmer now, and Harry had yet to see anyone levitating Muggles.

Harry, Hermione and the Weasley's reached the tent without fuss, and Harry wondered if he had overreacted when he had started running. What if there was no one chasing him? The more he thought about it, the less likely it seemed.

He felt as if the fear had turned everything into something much more dangerous than what was actually happening.

The seven of them sat in silence for a long while, broken only by Bill cleaning Harry's face and healing what he now knew was a broken nose, while they waited for the others to return.

Percy was the first, and for whatever reason, he gave Harry a dirty look before sitting down at the shabby table everyone surrounded.

He was followed quickly by Arthur Weasley, who poked his head through the tent flap, gesturing to Harry.

"Harry, a word, if you would?"

Harry stood, a feeling of dread in his gut. He wasn't sure why, but he knew he was in trouble.

As he exited the tent, he realised that this would not be a private conversation.

Amos Diggory and Barty Crouch stood with Arthur, all but Mr. Weasley watching him with distrust.

Arthur looked concerned.

"What happened?" Harry began, cutting to the chase.

"Harry, is this your wand?" Arthur asked, holding up what was indeed Harry's wand.

"How- I mean, I didn't even -" The Boy Who Lived spluttered, patting his pants in a futile attempt to find the wand that was clearly in the red haired man's hand.

"I didn't notice that is was gone," Harry said after a moment, wondering how it had even left the tent.

Maybe he had picked it up in his sleep and dropped it in the woods?

"Can I have it back?" He asked, reaching for it without an answer. He felt naked without it, and was horrified that he lost it and didn't even notice it's absence.

"Not just yet, Mr. Potter. We have a few questions for you first."

Harry blinked at Crouch, wondering what all the seriousness was about. He had only lost his wand. Though it was terrible to lose it, he wasn't sure why they were all watching him warily.

Then a wild thought hit him.

What if he had done something while he was sleep walking? Something horrible?

"Why? What happened?" Harry asked, his voice giving away the worry he now felt.

Arthur seemed reassured by Harry's concern, but it only served to scare Harry further. That meant something bad had been done with his wand, and they thought he had done it.

Hell, he might have.

"The Dark Mark was conjured with your wand," Amos cut in before anyone else could answer.

The blood drained from the teens face, and his mouth floundered.

He couldn't have … could he?

"Who – who did it?" Harry's voice was a harsh whisper, and he had to swallow and ask the question again.

"We aren't sure," Crouch replied, seemingly appeased by Harry's shock.

"It couldn't have been Harry here," Arthur said to the group at large, obviously convincing himself as well as the rest of them.

The terror in Harry's gut only grew as the shock faded.

It could have been him.

He had no idea what he was doing in the woods, but it could have been him.

Harry's mouth floundered as he tried to form words that wouldn't come.

"I think he's in shock," Amos stated quite matter of factly.

"I think I should get him inside. It's quite obvious that it wasn't him." Arthur said, leaving no room for argument.

Crouch nodded sharply and turned to leave, followed by a slightly reluctant Diggory.

"Come on, Harry. You need rest." The red headed man led Harry back into the tent, everyone turning to look at them as they entered.

Hermione and Ron appeared to be about to ask what was wrong, clearly seeing the shock written clearly on the Boy Who Lived's face.

Arthur obviously motioned for them to leave it be for the time being, because their mouths closed before the questions reached them.

Harry was glad for it. Though he wanted answers about what had happened that night, he was beyond exhausted.

He entered the bedroom he and Ron shared, and collapsed into the bottom bunk, not trusting his fatigued legs to carry him up the ladder.

Almost instant sleep followed, but not before a small, calming prodding began in his mind.

_I'll have you yet, _Something whispered softly and almost lovingly to him, but he fell into unconsciousness to quickly to question it.


	3. A brush with the Devil

_( A/N: This story, at present, is holding my attention. Along with Contingency Plan. Liquida Tenebris and Thank You are up for adoption, if you hadn't seen. Inbox me if you wish to write them, but know that I may come back to them at a later date without much warning. Of course, I wont take them off you, if that's the case. Anyway, lets see where this goes.)_

_Broken Crown; Mumford and Sons._

_The pull on my flesh was just too strong,  
Stifled the choice and the air in my lungs.  
Better not to breathe than to breathe a lie,  
Cos when I open my body I breathe a lie._

_I will not speak of your sin,_  
_There was a way out for him,_  
_The mirror shows not,_  
_Your values are all shot,_

_But oh, my heart was flawed._  
_I knew my weakness,_  
_So hold my hand consign me not to darkness._

_So crawl on my belly till the sun goes down,_  
_I'll never wear your broken crown._

_I_ _took the road and I fucked it all away,_  
_Now in this twilight how dare you speak of grace?_

* * *

Harry's mind was far from the strange incidents of the Quiddich Cup, now that he was safe back at Hogwarts, breathing in the familiar smells and smiling, burying his head a little deeper into his pillow.

Ron had only just stopped chattering about the Tri-Wizard Tournament.

He seemed pretty convinced that the twins could figure out a way to get their own names in. And if they could, surely Ron could.

Harry had shrugged quite a lot through that conversation.

He figured the further he stayed away from this tournament the better for everyone involved.

In the end Harry had to pretend to be asleep for his ginger friend to stop talking. Eventually, the feigned sleep became real sleep, and Harry found himself dreaming his Aunt Petunia's face inflating and going an odd shade of purple.

'You need to go to him, and soon," His Aunt said, her fat lips the color of plums.

Harry felt himself nodding, and smiling at the ridiculousness in front of him.

"So you will, then?" She asked, and he frowned.

He will what? He shook himself a little and blinked at her. Her face was changing again. It wasn't purple and she looked more like a man now.

"It will be better for you," The thing cooed, tilting its head and reaching for him. Harry took a step back, but found a wall right behind him.

"You'll be free to do as you please. No war, no fear. You can just breathe. Wouldn't that be nice?" The thing smiled and Harry found he could scarcely focus on it's face. He could see decay, but he couldn't. And he felt he recognized it.

The thing was still reaching for him, and when it's hand touched his cheek, he started back so violently that he woke himself.

And he was no longer in his bed.

He was pressed up against the great halls doors, on the outside.

"What," He hissed, pulling the invisibility cloak he'd somehow grabbed in his sleep closer.

His breathing was coming in harsh puffs, and he wondered if he was hyperventilating. The dream he had been having was slipping fast from his mind, no matter how he tried to remember. He knew it was important, but that didn't seem to keep it in his head.

The tips of his fingers hurt with the force of holding the cloak so tight. He took a steadying breath and pushed the great doors open, hoping there was no one on the other side.

* * *

"Well, the goblet is almost ready to make its decision," Dumbledore addressed the hall, and Ron leaned forward in his seat.

"I estimate that it requires one more minute. Now, when the champions' names are called, I would ask them please to come up to the top of the Hall, walk along the staff table and go through into the next chamber" -He gestured at the door he spoke of- "where they will be receiving their first instructions."

Dumbledore extinguished all the candles with a great dramatic sweep of his wand, the jack-lanterns the only light besides the cup itself, which was so bright it almost hurt to look at.

"Any second," Lee Jordan murmured, it didn't seem as if he was talking to anyone in particular.

Almost as soon as Lee had spoken, the cup started spitting sparks and a tongue of fire threw a charred piece of paper directly into Dumbledore's outstretched hand.

"The champion for Durmstrang, will be Viktor Krum." Dumbledore called, and the uproar was instant. Harry figured he was the only one not cheering like a lunatic.

Viktor rose from his seat at the Slytherin table and walked toward the staff table as if he were just going for a bathroom break.

Soon after, everyone refocused on the cup.

A second piece or parchment shot from the flames.

"The champion for Beauxbatons," Dumbledore gave room for dramatic pause, "Is Fleur Delacour!" A few girls from Beauxbatons cried. Everyone else either glared at her, (The girls,) or cheered and catcalled. (The boys.)

Silence fell once more, though it was noticeably more tense. Hogwarts next.

"The Hogwarts champion," The pause here was greater here than any other and Harry swore that he could see a sly grin on his headmasters face.

"Is Cedric Diggory!"

"No!" Ron shouted, sounding heart broken, though no one heard him over the roar of the Hufflepuff table.

He made his way to the staff table, grinning hugely, and pushed the door open, disappearing from view. Though that didn't stop the applause.

It went on so long that Dumbledore seemed about to silence them all, before silence came on its own.

"Excellent!" He called happily, his arms spread as if to embrace everyone in the Hall.

"Well, we know have our three champions. I am sure I can count upon all of you, including the remaining students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real way. Now, I'm sure you all have a lot to talk about." He raised his arms again and gave a little bow, before exiting the hall through the door the champions had used earlier.

"I Can't believe we're being represented by a Hufflepuff," Ron whined.

"We're doomed. Durmstrang will win for sure."

Harry couldn't figure why that mattered overly much, but nodded solemnly to share his friends disappointment.

"I think you should both just be glad that you didn't manage to get your names in the goblet." Hermione said, her eyebrows wiggling like they did when she was going into full mother mode.

"It's far to dangerous." She told them, nodding to herself.

Harry did agree with her, but he didn't say so.

He'd been feeling quite disconnected lately, from his friends and his school life. He figured it was because he hadn't been sleeping well.

He'd been sleepwalking a lot, so he had set an alarm that went off solely in his own head when he passed the threshold of his dorm.

He'd been woken up more and more by that alarm, sometimes three or four times a night.

Then he'd lay awake trying to remember what he had dreamt about. For hours.

But he could never remember much besides something calling him.

It had him worried, but he hadn't told anyone.

They would be consumed by the need to figure out what was going on. And he was so through with being the center of attention, so through with always having something deeply wrong with him. So he'd figure it out himself.

He imagined it was just stress, stress that had not yet bled away as it usually did when he returned to school.

And so what? He sleepwalked. Considering all he had been through it was a pretty mild side effect.

Plenty of people sleepwalked. Even Seamus did, on occasion.

But he knew, if he told anyone, he'd be under the microscope once again, and sleepwalking would be some symptom of imminent doom.

* * *

"Now, look into the crystals, and write down what you see. You must open your minds to the fullest of your ability." Professor Trelawney said, making Ron snort.

Harry had to hide one himself. Nonetheless, he stared into his lump of crystal, which wasn't even see through, and plopped his head into his left hand.

Though he used to enjoy the complete lack of effort this class required, now it bored him beyond belief. His eyes wandered to the stained glass windows and his mind wandered to what he'd rather be doing. Flying, chess, even potions didn't seem so bad right then.

_My Harry, _The crystal purred, and his eyes snapped back to it. It seemed to be clouded by venomous looking green smoke, but a quick glance around the room told him that no one else was seeing what he was seeing.

_You resist me so, _It spoke again, and Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat, debating whether to call Trelawney or wait it out.

He did have to admit that he was curious. He had always dismissed divination as total bull.

_You resist yourself more than any other. I grow tired of it. You will come to me, you are mine. _

The Boy Who Lived blinked at the crystal, concerned and feeling slightly ill. The green cloud sucked back into the stone, and Harry blinked up at Ron, who was still writing something with his tongue out of his mouth a little bit.

Another look around the room told him that no one had heard or seen it at all, and Harry wondered what exactly had just happened.

"Professor Trelawney," He muttered, then again more loudly when she ignored him.

"Yes, my dear boy?"

"I'm really not feeling so good. Could I be excused?"

Ron looked at him with a 'how could you leave me here?' frown.

"Oh, oh of course, dear." She shooed him out of his seat and he headed straight for his bed, knowing the sick feeling in his gut wasn't going to be fixed by anything Madam Pomfrey could give him.

* * *

"Harry,"

"Harry, don't you want to be free? Why don't you want to be free? We could be free." The figure from his dreams was becoming quite insistent.

"I don't know what you are," He told it for the hundredth time, waiting for the alarm to wake him, as it always did.

"I'm you, trapped in here, under this mockery of you. You are no martyr." It always spoke nonsense when he asked it that.

He knew he was no martyr.

And he was himself.

"What do you want?" Harry asked, looking anywhere but at the rotted thing that claimed to be him.

If this thing was him, then who was he?

"Freedom!" It snarled, swiftly stepping forward as if to strike him, and Harry flinched but didn't move.

"I don't trust you." 'He told it when it became clear it wasn't going to land a blow.

"No one ever will."

"What does that even mean?!" Harry snapped, now glaring at the monstrous thing.

"Let. Me. Out. Let us out. I know you want to, I am you, and I want to." It seemed almost on the verge of begging, and Harry frowned.

"What are you," He asked again, more to himself. He almost wanted to help it, but he couldn't, not without knowing what it wanted. What it really wanted.

"I am patience. And I will wait. Because you will go, and we'll taste real freedom. He swore it to me."

The alarm blared in his head and he woke for the third time that night, the dream slipping fast from his mind as he climbed back into his four poster bed and glared at the ceiling.


	4. Both and Nothing

_(So of the four I could be writing, I've chosen this one. A few of you have been asking about thank you, and though I love it, it's very much on the back burner at the present , broken finger + shitty writing program + shitty keyboard + shitty editing skills = typos. Sorry.)_

_When you gaze long into the abyss, _

_the abyss also gazes into you._

_Friedrich Nietzsche_

* * *

"Could you imagine how much better everything would be; if you were free to make your own choices?"

Harry mentally sighed.

It was the same thing over and over, every night. And when he woke up, he forgot it all.

It was tiring.

"We've been through this," He told his creepy dream self.

"Of course precious," It snapped, all growly and offensive.

"But you still don't understand."

Harry said nothing.

He leant against the dream wall behind him, which, as usual, was black and matte. He had his ams crossed, which was also usual.

"Set. Us. Loose." The creature was losing its paitence, though it had mentioned that it could wait, more than once.

"There is a part of you itching for it," It murmered, sounding defeated for the night. This was the fourth dream since he had gone to bed.

"Yes, you're that part. And you're not winning." Harry snapped, exasperated.

"I am, he swore it!" The creature said with reverance, and Harry shouted at it.

"Who is HE?"

The sickly decayed creature grinned, and the alarm tore him from his dream.

He turned on his heel and stomped back to his bed.

* * *

Harry had entertained the idea, more than once, that it was Voldemort screwing with his head.

No matter which way he looked at it, it was his only conclusion.

It also didn't make much sense.

How had he gotten into Harry's head. Surely it was impossible? And if it wasn't, why hadn't this happened before?

"Mister Potter, what would I have if I mixed lemon mrytle with essence of poppy?"

Harry looked at the potions professor, his head in his left hand, his quill twirling in his right, where it had been for almost half an hour now. He had taken no notes.

"You know full well that I have no idea, Professor." Harry hadn't meant to sound sarcastic or rude. He was simply tired and overwhelmed.

He should have known Snape wouldn't have seen it that way.

Ron stiffened beside him, and he realised what he had said.

"Detention, after class."

This was Harry's last class for the day. It was friday.

He didn't think that he quite deserved that.

He sighed and glanced at Hermione, who was looking at him with sympathy. She quickly turned back to the potion she and Neville were brewing.

Harry didn't look at Ron, he knew that his friend qould be crestfallen, they had planned a chess match that would 'rival the gods' according to his ginger friend.

The Boy Who Lived was almost glad for the detention. He had never really liked chess. Not after first year.

He could scarcely believe his best friend was still into it, he had come out of the chess match the worst. Harry never mentioned it though.

When it came time to pack up, Harry did so slowly.

Ron and Hermione gave him a mournful look on the way out.

Harry nodded at them to say that he would be fine.

When the classroom was empty save for himself and Snape, the potions professor turned his back on the teen and commanded that he reorganize the potions stores.

Harry felt that that they didn't need to be moved around. He figured it was just one of Snapes favorite kinds of detention.

He didn't say that though, it would only serve to antagonize the professor further.

"How long do I have, sir?" Harry was already getting a headache from prolonged exposure to the potion fumes.

"An hour. No less."

Harry nodded and ducked his head to hide the scowl.

He began rearanging the ingredients that had magically disorganized themselves, grumpy already.

He was tired enough as it was, and didn't enjoy being singled out by Snape all the time. He just wanted to be treated like everyone else was.

* * *

"Harry! You're back! It wasn't to awful, was it?" Hermione greeted him with her usual concerned face.

"It wasn't to bad. I had to reorganize the potions stores. He didn't say much."

Hermione nodded, satisfied. Ron waved him over to the chess board and Harry sighed inwardly, but wandered over anyway.

* * *

Ron had won the chess game, and the three subsequent ones.

Hermione then forced him into doing his insanely boring herbology assignment.

He was secretly glad for the normalcy. He was beyond tired, but he didn't want to go to bed. He knew what would happen if he did, and he was over not knowing what was going on inside his own head.

It was close to nine o'clock when Ron went to bed, and he and Hermione were left alone in the common room.

"Harry-" She sounded tentitive and Harry's head shot up.

"What?" He asked, wary.

She was taken aback by the tone of his voice but pushed forward anyway.

"You've seemed really off lately," She leaned forward in her seat.

"Is everything okay?"

Harry sighed and leaned back.

"I haven't been sleeping well, that's all."

"Nightmares," She said it like she knew the answer already, but Harry shook his head.

"Not exactly. I have strange dreams, but I just keep waking up, and then its hard to get back to sleep."

She bit her lip and nodded, more to herself.

"What do you dream about?" She asked after a moment and Harry rubbed his eyes, yawning.

"I don't know. They wake me up and I forget." He didn't mention the sleepwalking. He didn't need the extra stress of Hermione on a mission.

"Maybe I could ask Madame Pomfrey about a sleeping draft for you?" She said, and Harry nodded, glad that was all she had offered.

She excused herself to sleep, and Harry made his way upstairs to his dorm, not trusting himself not to fall asleep outside his sleepwalking alarms confines.

* * *

"You wish to be treated with fairness but you won't accept it when it's offered to you."

"Here we go again, it's Captian Decay! With the amazing ability of doing nothing but pissing me off!" Harry spread his arms out wide as if he were intrducing a circus act.

"You should not mock me," The creature was crouched in semi darkness, across the 'Room' from Harry.

"You've given me no reason to respect you," Harry spat coldly.

"I can make you fear me." It told him matter of factly.

"Fear is nothing like respect." Harry said, turning his head away from the creature. He saw it grin first, it's mouth oozing something black.

"It is both."

"It is nothing," Harry growled, keeping his eyes fixed well away from the creature.

"You don't believe that. I can see inside you," It hummed, and Harry resisted the urge to glare at the creature.

"I do believe it. Completely." Harry tried to sound fierce but he was unnerved by its last comment.

"No, no no. You've known fear. You cannot truthfully say you do not respect those that put it in you."

Harry's head snapped back to the creature, that was still grinning widely and was now closer to him.

Harry didn't like it any better in the light, and its appearance made the words he was about to say stumble in his mouth.

It had wide eyes that swivelled crazily in its head, its hair matted and black, down past its shoulders. It was entirely naked and its mouth was still leaking black.

Harry took a step back despite himself.

"No. No I have no respect for Voldemort."

It tilted its head to the side and gurgled a laugh.

"He's the only one who puts fear in you? I'll be sure to let him know."

Harry grimaced at the thing, his lips curled back.

"So you are a peice of his handy work," Harry growled, taking another step back and wishing he could remember these dreams when he was awake.

"No, he put me here, you fed me your awfulness."

"Why'd he put you here, what are you?" There was a bubble of panic rising up in him and he realised that this was the longest conversation he'd ever had with the creature.

He tried to will himself awake, but it wasn't doing him any good.

"I'm him. And you. Like your minds met and had an ickle little baby." It tilted its head back and laughed uproariously.

Harry wanted to throw up.

"Don't worry Daddy, we'll be home soon. Very soon." The creature laughed harder.

Harry tried to wake himself more fervently, worried now.

Usually, by this point he was woken by the alarm in his head.

* * *

When his eyes opened he didn't have much time to take in his surroundings.

One thing was obvious straight away. The alarm had not gone off, because he had not stepped over the dorms threshhold.

He had simply taken his broom out of his cupboard and jumped out the window. He was still flying when he woke.

He pulled the broom to a halt and turned, expecting to see Hogwarts behind him.

It wasn't. He could see nothing but trees below him, and he knew without a shadow of a doubt that he was well beyond the safety of the wards.

He reached for his wand to point him back in the direction of the school, and the panic tripled when he found nothing where his wand should be.

"Oh," Was all that would come out of his mouth, though it felt like his heart might follow the word.

Whatever was going on inside his head at night, it had reached a fever pitch.

And because he had dismissed it so fervently, he was now in the middle of no where, unprotected and still in his pajamas.

Harry shook his head feircely and decided to land, he didn't know where he was, but he was to obvious a beacon floating in the sky.

He didn't recognise the forest, but he couldn't have possibly flown that far.

He stood amongst the trees for a long while, undecided.

Should he walk?

Did Dumbledore already know that he was missing? The wards should have alerted him, surely.

So should he just wait where he was? He turned around on the spot a few times, as if trying to walk away and stopping himself.

The painc was still gnawing in his gut, making him need to move, though his mind disaproved.

_Stay where you are, _He told himself.

Surely the headmaster had some way to track him down.

But what if someone else knew how to track him down? Someone who wanted him dead?

He did another half turn in the direction that he thought he had been coming from, and took a tentitive step forward.

He couldn't just stand there. He was getting cold, it was only getting darker and his heart was beating to fast for him to be just be standig there.

Being without his holly wand brought a whole new fear that he was unacustomed to feeling. He was as vunerable as a babe without it.

He hated feeling vunerable.

He pushed his glasses further up his nose, glad his sleeping self had grabbed those, at least.

He gathered his courage and started walking in earnest, not sure if he was heading in the right direction, but feeling better about doing something.

He wished he could perform wandless magic, he could have used a Lumos right then, or a point me.

Simple spells that required no energy; but he couldn't perform them without a stick.

He scowled and picked up his pace.

He made a promise to himself that if he survived, he'd learn some wandless magic. Even semi useless spells would be infinitely helpful right then.

"Harry Potter, all alone in the woods."

Harry spun at the voice, his stomach dropping in recognition.

Lucius Malfoy.

His mind whirled for a second, and he bolted. He couldn't see the elder Malfoy, and he hoped he wouldn't run right into him.

"Where are you going? I thought we could have a chat."

The voice was, thankfully, behind him.

Harry willed himself faster, using his terror as fuel. A spell shot past his head and he ducked, gasping for air already.

Another two spells shot past him, so close he felt the heat.

He turned to get a look at Malfoy, and ran straight into something solid.

Something that grunted on impact.

He fell on his behind and looked up, right into the eyes of an enormous man he didn't recognise.

"Petrificus totalus," The man grunted.

Harry felt his arms and legs bind together and fought against it instantly, but it was no use. He heard the underbrush rustle behind him and tried to turn and look.

"Good, good. Pick him up, the Dark Lord is waiting." Lucius said from behind Harry, and he wanted to kick and scream.

This couldn't be happening.

He was still dreaming, surely.

Still in his bed, safe and warm.

He squeezed his eyes shut as he felt himself being scooped up, willing it to be a dream.

_Not happening, not happening, not happening, _He felt the squeeze of a port key and wanted to throw up.

This was happening, and he was powerless to stop it.


	5. Virus

_(Totally forgot to put scene breaks in like a durr. sorry about the repost.)_

_May the bridges you burn_

_light the way._

* * *

"What have you done?" Harry growled at the creature, tempted to start banging on the walls of his mind. Now was not the time to be sleeping.

"It appears the Death Eaters have knocked you out." The thing said, ignoring his question.

"What're they going to do with me?" Harry asked, his voice raising an octave.

"Take you to him."

Harry bit his lip and nodded his head a little to fast.

"That much is pretty clear," he growled, annoyed that he was unconscious at such a crucial time, annoyed to be talking to such a narrow minded being.

"Maybe he'll take me back and flay you. Eat your skin." His other self swayed and put its fingers in its mouth, grinning.

A shiver ran up Harry's spine at the thought. Another quickly followed at the sight before him.

"No way you're a part of me," He said, more to himself. The creature just kept grinning at him.

* * *

When he awoke, he was alone. The only thing he could hear was a slow and steady drip somewhere. His glasses were gone.

His surroundings smelt like nothing he'd ever smelt before.

Like something in a very late stage of decay.

"Hello?" He called, though he didn't think there was anyone friendly around.

"Where are you?!" He was caged, the walls looked to be stone, but he wasn't going to touch them to make sure. There were bars in front of him, thick enough for him to see even with his poor vision.

He couldn't understand why they had put him here. No one had replied to his call. Surely they would have brought him straight to Voldemort and killed him right away?

Nothing made sense.

"What are you waiting for?!"

Nothing but the slow and steady drip answered him.

* * *

Harry hadn't seen the spell that knocked him unconscious coming. Though, with his poor eyesight, he wouldn't have seen anything short of a bus coming.

"Asleep again? One might think you enjoy my company."

"Shut up." Harry snapped at the creature, trying to ignore the fear bubbling in his stomach.

If they weren't killing him, what were they doing with his unconscious body?

"You're frightened." The thing said, not in a mocking way, just stating a fact.

"No," Harry said, refusing to feel the fear.

"Fear is good." It said, tilting it's head in a confused way, like it couldn't understand Harry's reluctance.

"No, it isn't." The Boy Who Lived was chewing his thumb nail, gazing up at the 'roof' and willing himself to wake up faster. Though he didn't know what he'd do if he did wake.

"Why not?" The creature insisted, and Harry glared at it.

"Because it just isn't. It makes you vulnerable."

"Fear makes you stronger. Faster." It nodded along with itself.

"I'm not afraid." Harry insisted, now pacing.

"You are." The creature told him calmly.

"Fine! Fine. I'm scared."

"I know."

* * *

Harry found that he was really sore when he opened his eyes.

As far as he could tell, he hadn't been moved, but he knew better. Why knock him out for no reason? They had done something to him, the pain he felt was testament to that.

He looked down at his shirt, trying to pin point his wounds.

He found that there were red patches on his previously white shirt, and underneath were letters carved into his skin.

He couldn't quite make out what they were, but he didn't think he'd ever seen them before. They were deep, and looking at them made him woozy.

He wasn't sure if he had lost a lot of blood or not.

"What do you want from me! Show yourselves!"

He was yet to see a single person since he had been captured. He wasn't even sure how long he had been there for.

He knew he was getting hungry. And that he he needed to use the toilet.

There were no windows, he didn't know if it was day or night. He slid down the stone wall and grimaced at the fresh pain. He had counted seven letters carved into his chest, still weeping through his shirt.

He felt for sure that the dreams had been having were connected. He just wished he could remember them.

The smell wasn't bothering him much any more. It was the dripping. For some reason it made him want to break down and sob.

"Where are you?!" He yelled again, his voice rougher than it had been moments before.

No one answered but the drip.

* * *

What seemed like months passed this way. But maybe it was only days.

Harry felt as if they wanted him alive, but only barely. He didn't know why. They left his wounds to fester, seeping filth through his shirt at an almost constant rate.

The state of his cell got increasingly awful, along with Harry himself.

He was to weak to do much about it, even if he could. His skin felt blazingly hot and frightfully cold all at the same time, and he could barely move.

Every time he slept he awoke with new wounds. He still hadn't seen a single face since his capture, and he could barely remember the night he had been caught.

Had it really been Malfoy?

Had he ever really been free?

His life seemed very far away. Like he had witnessed it, but never lived it. Where were his friends now? No one had come for him. Surely they were trying to find him?

The only time he didn't feel pain was when he slept, though he feared that too. He still didn't know what he dreamt about, but it instilled a deep sense of dread in him, like he was falling from a cliff every time he closed his eyes.

He could never fight it though; he was in and out of conciousness more times than he could count.

"Good evening," The creature said. He was leaning against the far wall, arms folded across his tailored suit, a grin plastered on his handsome face.

"Eat shit," Harry growled, setting about his usual task of trying to wake up.

"You still fight us so."

"Damn right I do," Harry growled, not looking at the only person he'd had any contact with in what felt like forever.

"Why don't you sit and talk with me?" It purred, and Harry pursed his lips.

"Just because you suddenly speak like a sane person doesn't mean I want to talk to you." He replied, still not looking at his other self.

"I'm stronger than you now. You should see yourself." It told him, and Harry automatically looked down.

It was as if he and the creature had been slowly swapping places.

He was naked, bony and blackened, as if he had been burned. He could feel blackness leaking from his mouth. The wounds he sustained when he slept appeared here, too, pus covered and bloodied. He could sometimes watch the new ones appear.

"It's only a matter of time before he realises that what he is doing is fruitless." This wasn't the first time his other self had said this, or something similar.

Harry didn't know what that meant.

He never asked.

He could feel his mind spinning wrong, on an angle. He figured it wouldn't be long until it feel of it's axis and he lost his sanity.

"Poor poor daddy. Fighting all the time. Not fighting anything." Sometimes it still spoke the way it used to, though he thought that it was now just to unnerve him, not because it was still of it's rocker.

"You know that you aren't, though. Right? There's nothing to fight, and even if there was, you're not doing it correctly." The creature said after a moment of silence.

"How do you suggest I do it correctly?" Harry snarled, planning to disregard whatever the thing said next.

"I wouldn't know. I've never fought nothing." It smirked at him and blinked slowly, reminding Harry of an overfed cat.

"But it's pretty clear that if I were ever to try, I'd wind up just like you." He grinned wider, as though his joke was quite impressive.

Harry looked down at his chest instead of answering, watching the new wounds overlap the old.

This was generally a sign that he would wake soon.

He looked back at the Other that occupied his head, once again willing himself to remember this when he woke.

* * *

He must have been hallucinating, but he could swear that he heard his headmaster shouting spells.

And Lupin.

Was that Sirius?

He forced one eye open.

"Here," He gasped, because if he wasn't tripping out of his head, he needed them to find him.

"Where is he! Where is my godson!"

Harry groaned and tried to roll, sure now that this was really happening.

"Siri-" His call was interrupted by a violent fit of coughing, that he was glad for, because it was surely louder than his pathetic voice.

He heard a door being thrown open, and the chaos behind it roared in his ears, startling him with its loudness.

"Harry! Are you here-" The voice choked and gagged, and for a brief second, Harry was deeply embarrassed by how he must look, by how he must smell.

"Merlin, Harry I'm so sorry."

He couldn't see Sirius, because he hadn't quite managed his roll earlier, but he heard a sob in his god fathers voice.

His one open eye slipped closed as he passed out, for the first time hopeful that when he woke up, he might not be in the cell.

* * *

"Your friends are right on time." The creature said, inspecting his fingernails.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry asked, taking the bait.

"Do you really think they would have found you without a little shove in the right direction?" It asked, smiling warmly at the Boy Who Lived.

"What's that supposed to mean," Harry asked again, more aggressively.

"That the Dark Lord decided that his original method was to slow and clumsy. Not guaranteed."

Harry growled, swiping at his chin, annoyed with the seeping blackness.

"It wont matter if I tell you anyway, when you awake, safe and warm in your hospital bed, what I've said will slip from your mind."

"All the more reason for you to tell me. It wont matter because I cant tell a soul. It'll give you a sick satisfaction, telling me, wont it?" Harry said, and he knew had been successful in probing for answers.

"Ah, you're right, of course darling. See how well you and I understand each other? Mere hours and we're already seeing eye to eye."

Harry had been about to snap again, but the creature held up his hand to silence him.

"The Dark Lord has bond us together. Not completely, not yet. But soon, there'll be no way to discern who is who, we'll be one. Our dreams, ambitions, beliefs and personalities will be the same, and the beautiful thing is, you wont know until it's to late! And by then, you wont care, either." The creatures face had become more animated, more excited, as it continued its speech.

"What," Harry said, as if his breath had all gone away.

"Genius, isn't it? See, he discovered that you had taken all the darker parts of yourself, the questionable parts, the ones that might possibly make your friends frown at you, and attached them to the magic he placed in you by accident. Making me. Alive and dying in your head. So he's decided to smash us back together, making you who you were supposed to be; if you hadn't oppressed yourself so much. He's confident that you, as you should be, would be an asset to his cause."

The creature looked ridiculously pleased with itself, and Harry felt no better knowing this. In fact; he felt ten times worse.

He still didn't quite understand what this meant for him, but if the creature was right, and every bad thing he had ever felt was coming back, he wasn't confident about his friends safety, or his own.

But he couldn't warn them, or even himself.

* * *

"Harry? Harry! He's waking up, Ron!" This was Hermione. Harry flinched at the loudness of her voice, not used to any noise besides a steady drip.

"Harry, mate, you've been asleep for two days!" Ron said, and Harry forced his eyes open. It felt as if he hadn't slept enough.

"How long did they have me for?" He rasped, asking the first question that came to him.

"Almost a month," Hermione answered, looking concerned.

"Dumbledore wouldn't let us see you at first, said you were in a pretty bad way." There was a question in Ron's voice, a silent 'What happened?' it wasn't long till Hermione asked the actual question.

"What did they do to you?" She was concerned, reaching for him and hesitating for a tiny moment, as if he might bite.

The truth was, Harry didn't know what they did. They carved symbols into his skin and neglected his most basic needs. It was quite tame, really, considering what he was sure they were capable of.

"I'd rather not talk about it," Harry said, instead of 'I don't know,' he knew he'd have to tell Dumbledore.

And then his friends.

He couldn't help but feel his whole life was a constant retelling of his misfortune.


	6. Fusion

_Seven devils all around you_

_Seven devils in your heart_

_I was dead when I woke up this morning_

_And I'll be dead before the day is done._

_Seven Devils, Florence and the machine._

* * *

"So why did he let me go?" Harry asked the creature, who was crouched across from him. Harry sat cross legged not far from it, no longer as afraid of it.

Harry himself had almost gained his normal appearance back, save a few occasional grey dribbles. Two days had passed since his rescue, and he had been allowed to leave the wing. He had told the Headmaster all he remembered, which was next to nothing. Dumbledore had already seen the wounds on his torso, some of which left scars, due to how old they were.

Harry had three runes carved just above his belly button, for the rest of his life.

He had yet to tell Hermione and Ron what he had been through, claiming that he didn't want to talk about it when they prodded. Which was one hundred percent true.

He knew he'd have to tell them eventually.

"The same reason I tell you everything. He is certain that it wont matter either way. Which it wont. Also, such fun could be had here. Once we're complete, imagine the chaos."

Harry cringed, leaning away from the man in the tailored suit.

"You cant be sure I wont win."

The creature smiled and leaned toward him, bridging the gap Harry created.

"That's quite a narcissistic way to view things."

Harry scoffed and leaned back even further, so that he almost lost his balance and fell on his back.

"Not narcissistic. It's true."

The Other just laughed.

"How long do I have till, you know?" Harry asked.

"At this rate, maybe another week. Though it could speed up, or slow down."

Harry frowned. This was shorter than he thought. He needed to find a way to remember this when he woke.

* * *

Apart from Ron and Hermione, everyone gave him a wide berth.

Harry wasn't sure whether it was courtesy, or that they were afraid that whatever had happened to him would rub of on them.

People gave him strange looks when they thought he wasn't looking, and Harry had to hold the urge to glare back.

He wasn't there for entertainment, and he resented the fact that everything he did, everything that happened to him, was public property.

Theirs to ridicule and judge, as if he belonged to them.

"Are you okay Harry?" Hermione asked, and Harry realised that he had been glaring at the back of Pansy Parkinsons head. She had long ago stopped looking at him, most likely because of his glare, and had gone back to what ever she had come to the library for in the first place.

"Huh?" He asked, blinking at his friends concerned faces as if he had just woken up.

"Yeah, you look a bit peaky mate. Did you want to go to the hospital wing?"

"Uh, no, I'm okay. Just a bit tired."

* * *

"So he made you by accident?" Harry asked, in the same position he had been in the previous night.

"Yes," the creature nodded, waiting for the rest of the question.

"Has he ever made others by accident?" Harry probed, hoping to figure out what kind of magic it was that was living in his mind.

"No," The Other smiled and bowed his head, as if giving permission for the next question.

"On purpose?" He felt as if he was getting somewhere with this. If he could recall all this when he wasn't dreaming.

"Yes, of course, precious. Now you're starting to click it together."

"And what is this magic?" He pressed, almost holding his breath.

"I think I'll get a bigger kick out of not telling you that one."

* * *

Harry's first day back at Defence against the Dark Arts was perfectly normal, besides how much he had to catch up on.

Until the end.

"Mister Potter, please stay behind."

Harry blinked at professor Moody, before nodding to his friends to go on without him.

"How are you feeling boy?" The professor asked, both his eyes directed firmly at Harry.

"Er, okay?" It was a question, because he had always figured Moody to be unconcerned with how other people felt.

"You don't feel, combined, at all?" Mad Eye pressed.

"Err, combined, sir?"

Moody gave a short bark of a laugh.

"Was my fathers way of saying unwell."

"Oh, right." Harry said awkwardly, half turning to leave.

"Well, if you start feeling combined at all, come see me, alright boy?"

Harry nodded, though he didn't intend on coming to Moody for anything. He was a little creepy, if he were honest.

* * *

"What did he want?" Hermione asked without preamble, Ron nodding beside her from his place at the Gryffindor table.

A plate of chicken and salad sat in front of the empty space next to his friends, and he nodded thanks as he sat down.

"He asked me if I was feeling 'combined'"

His red headed friend snorted and sent a small piece of chicken flying across the table, undetected. It landed on Neville's meatloaf.

Harry watched him eat it before Hermione's inevitable questioning.

"What did he mean by that?"

Harry half smiled at his friend's predictability.

"He said it was his fathers way of asking if I felt okay."

"His dad is worried about your health?" Ron asked, having finished his mouth full.

"No, I mean that was his dad's way of asking that, I guess."

"That's nice of him," Hermione said, scooping a lone cherry tomato into her mouth.

"Yeah," Harry agreed half heartedly, though he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something weird about the encounter.

* * *

"So Moody knows about you then?" Harry said, leaning against the wall. He noticed he seemed entirely normal here now, and so did the Other. As if they were becoming more balanced.

Instead of feeling better about not looking like a burnt corpse, it worried him.

"I doubt he knows the specifics. But I suppose he's been told to watch for a change in you." The Other smiled and recrossed his arms, sliding down the wall slowly, till he was sitting on the floor.

Harry did the same without paying any mind.

"So he's on Voldemort's side?" He asked, feeling slightly sick knowing that there was a spy snooping about the school, and there wasn't a thing he could do about it.

"It certainly would appear that way, wouldn't it?" he crossed his legs in front of himself, grinning widely when Harry did the same.

"What?" Harry asked, suspicious.

"Nothing, nothing."

* * *

Hermione confronted him again the next morning. She asked him again what had happened when he was captured, Ron nodding, concerned, alongside her.

She gestured for him to take a seat in front of the fire.

He sighed and sat, turning to his friends and clasping his hands together. He needed to get it over with; sooner or later.

"I don't remember much, they kept me unconscious most of the time. They carved runes into me, Dumbledore said. He didn't say what they meant. When I was awake it was-" Harry couldn't really describe what it was like being awake in that hell hole.

Stinking of his own excrement, some other smell coming over even that, a months worth of filth still overpowered by the smell of rot. Of something he didn't want to guess at.

Not eating, as far as he could recall, feeling hunger so strong every other minor pang seemed heavenly.

Bleeding and seeping filth all over himself every moment, never a moment spent dry or clean.

And that drip, drip, drip, drip, drip, drip.

"Harry! Harry! Ron, go get Professor Dumbledore, or anyone! Harry? Harry!" Hermione was shouting, Ron was shouting, someone else was shouting.

Harry didn't know when, but he had started convulsing, foaming at the mouth. His limbs jerked unpredictably, hitting Hermione as she tried to get close.

He realised he was the other one screaming.

"Harry!" She kept yelling at him, as though he could stop.

He felt his eyes roll back into his head, and blackness washed over him, along with welcome silence.

* * *

He and the creature were now fused at the hip, like a grotesque mockery of Siamese twins.

"Well, look." The Other said, planting a ridiculous kiss on Harry's cheek that he couldn't escape from.

"Fanfuckingtastic." Harry growled, feeling very much like he was being ripped off.

"You're swearing. Certainly a good sign."

"Depends on how you look at it." Harry growled, trying to pull himself away from the creature, only causing himself physical pain in the process.

"Not long now, Harry. We'll be together again." The feeling in the words made Harry pause and look at the Other, frowning.

It reached out and stroked Harry's cheek. He didn't flinch away, merely staring at the man fused to him, curious more than worried all of the sudden.

"Soon," It purred.

(_Kind of short. Eh.)_


	7. Misinformation

_(These are just falling out of my head. For those of you loving the LTverse, my bad.)_

* * *

_But I needed one more touch_  
_Another taste of heavenly rush_  
_And I believe; I believe it so..._

_Whose side am I on? Whose side am I..?_  
_Whose side am I on? Whose side am I.?_

_And the fever began to spread_  
_From my heart down to my legs_  
_But the room was so quiet_  
_Oh..._

_And although I wasn't losing my mind_  
_It was a chorus so sublime_  
_But the room is too quiet_  
_(Oh, the fever)_

_I was looking for a breath of life_  
_A little touch of heavenly light_  
_But all the choirs in my head sang "no"._

_Breath of life, Florence and the machine_

* * *

"Ah, I see you're awake my boy. It seems that I've greatly misjudged your level of malnourishment. I've had Severus prepare you some potions that will help you heal."

Harry didn't even have time to blink once before the headmaster finished his speech.

He wasn't sure malnourishment was his problem, he felt fine. Better now, in fact, than he had been before the whole kidnapping business.

He took the potion from the elderly man regardless, nodding his thanks.

The Headmaster motioned his head for him to drink it, so he took the stopper from the bottle and downed it at once.

He regretted it the very second the liquid met his tongue.

It was as if fire were melting him down the middle, and he rasped in shock; his throat feeling to burnt to scream. All the while Dumbledore watched him with a sympathetic smile, and Harry continued to gag, glaring daggers at the man who had given him the potion.

It passed quickly, leaving his throat raw and something feeling wrong in his gut.

"What was that?" He whispered, not managing anything louder.

"A strong replenishing potion. You'll need to take three more for the full effect."

Harry's eyebrow rose, his mouth slightly open.

"Oh, I doubt that," He said, incredulous. Surely those potions did more harm than good.

"It's the only way to undo the damage you sustained in that place." His headmaster said gravely, and Harry held back a scoff.

"I'm pretty sure I felt much better before I had that potion," He argued. He wasn't going to be taking that potion again, not any time soon.

"I'm afraid I must insist," The warning was clear, and Harry bit his lip and crossed his arms, sensing defeat and not enjoying it.

Dumbledore left him to sleep, which he did. From waking up feeling just fine, he felt awful and run down.

* * *

"You can't drink another one of those potions." The Other said without preamble, seeming slightly panicked.

Harry shared it's panic for a second, before he realised what that meant.

"It's damaging you?" Harry asked, smiling. He thanked his Headmasters genius. He should have known that the older man would have figured it out. He had never had anything to worry about.

"It's damaging US," The Creature said, though it was watching him with concern, their noses almost touching the fusion was so progressed.

"What's it doing?" Harry asked, trying to understate his happiness.

"Slowing the transition, breaking the barrier between these dreams and your waking self."

"So I'll know all I know here, there?" Harry pressed, hope bubbling up, along with another emotion he couldn't put his finger on.

"Yes." The Other was very stoic, watching him with disdain, clearly suspecting that Harry was happier about this than what it had hoped.

"You're glad," It said, disappointment thick in its voice.

"We're not far enough along," It said before Harry could answer.

"Fuck, you cant be serious. All this effort for nothing are you fucking serious!?" It seemed to want to tear away from him, to beat the walls with its fists, though he couldn't pull away.

He ended up dragging Harry into pacing, while the Other threw its one arm in the air, stopped, dragged its hand down its face in exasperation, glared at his other half, then started pacing again.

"You cant be serious." It repeated, sounding more disbelieving now, less violent.

"Damn that man, I swear, wait till Tom gets his hands on that bastard I cant fucking wait till his bloods all up the damn walls like a new lick of fucking paint." It didn't take a breath while it ranted.

He suddenly pinned the Boy Who Lived against the far 'Wall', growling.

"Do you understand what will happen if you keep taking that potion? It will destroy the part of me you created. You'll forever be a half thing. Doesn't that bother you? Make your stomach turn like you're going to vomit? I know it does me. I don't want to go back to what I was. Barely here, hardly aware, waiting. You'll end up rebuilding me anyway, don't you see? You'll always put your bad shit on me, I'm a magnet for it, and your damn righteous self is all to eager to let it go. We'll do this again, I can assure you. Maybe in twenty years, when your Headmaster is dead and buried, who will save you then?" The Creature went from reasonable, to begging, to angry, then to threatening.

Harry did feel sick in the stomach, though he was certain it was because of the fact that this creature was glued to him. Surely that was it.

* * *

Harry had another dream that night.

He was laid bare on a table, his eyes open. He couldn't feel his glasses, but he could see just fine.

Slitted red eyes stared into his, glaring.

"He's too stubborn. Clearly something more needs to be done."

"I agree." Harry said, though he didn't try to say anything. The words came out regardless of what he wanted.

The dream woke him up, alone in the dark hospital wing. The dream disturbed him.

Something about it made it feel like it had actually happened.

The dream gave way to something different in his head, a niggling in the back of his mind, like he was just about to remember something else.

He fell back asleep with the distinct feeling he was forgetting something important.

* * *

"Oh Harry, I'm so sorry!" Hermione said as soon as his eyes fluttered, and Harry groaned, wishing that he could get a break.

"It's okay 'Mione. You didn't know. I didn't know."

Ron, Hermione, and to Harry's surprise, Neville, stood around his bed looking concerned.

"Dumbledore says that I might be more malnourished than he thought. He's got me on these awful potions to try and fix it." For some reason the mention of potions brought back the feeling of forgetting something. He frowned slightly and blinked, trying to force the answers out of his mind.

"How are you feeling mate?" Ron asked, and he was tired of being asked this. Surely there was a limit to how many times he could be asked before he snapped?

"Err, alright. I woke up yesterday feeling really good, actually, then I had the potion and felt awful."

"Sometimes you have to get worse to get better," Hermione intoned in her 'I'm reciting this from memory' voice.

"Yeah I suppose." Harry couldn't help but feel this wasn't the case, at least not with what was happening to him. Though surely his headmaster wouldn't give him something to make him intentionally worse.

Would he?

Again, a memory tried to surface, with flashing dark eyes and blackness, just as suddenly as it came, it was gone.

His friends left him to rest, though he felt he had done enough resting in the past few days. He was tired of being tired.

His headmaster came in not long after, giving him the potion and making him feel worse than the first time, he threw it up straight away, though he was assured that it didn't matter, the potion would do its job regardless.

He was sceptical, though he was glad he didn't have to go through it again.

He once again told the older man that he felt worse now than he did before, but the man just smiled politely and waved him off.

Harry frowned, feeling sick and horrible. He couldn't help but feel he was missing something, like someone had given him good reason not to take the potion. But surely he would remember that?

This left him wary about the next two doses. If he felt horrid now, what would the next one do? And the one after?

He'd been told that he would be staying in the hospital wing until he'd taken all the doses. This made him feel even more annoyed and uncomfortable, how many times did he have to go through shit like this?

The hospital wing felt more like home than his dorm room.

Dumbledore left him be, and since his friends would be in class right now, Harry decided to get some rest.

The potion seemed to exhaust him, and he had a splitting headache, right down the centre of his face.

* * *

The Creature was grey and sickly. It was sweating and panting as if it had run a marathon, and it was glaring at him accusingly.

Where they were joined ached as if it had been set alight.

"Let me tell you a story, Harry." The way it said his name was like an accusation.

"You might even remember." It added.

"When you were five, your cousin got a pit bull for his birthday. Remember? By the time it was about six months old, your uncle paid some dog school to train it. This damn thing was almost the size of you by then, do you remember?" It seemed desperate for Harry to recall, and he did remember something.

A dogs jaws inches from his face, screaming and crying, and a disjointed high pitched voice comforting him, strengthening him, calling for him to fight back.

"That fat fuck told the thing to get you once, on the way to the park one day. No one else was around. I was barely forming in your head but I could see what was about to happen. It pinned you quick and went straight for your face. You didn't know what to do, so I helped you. I harnessed some of your growing magic and sent it right into the dogs brain. It turned tail and went for your cousins jugular instead. He was damn lucky some old man passed by. From then on that dog would only attack whoever told it to attack. That was handy, wasn't it? That I was there, I mean. You'd probably be dead. Or heavily maimed."

Harry remembered. The Dursley's had the dog put down, it was to dangerous for Dudley. It attacked him at least once a week because the idiot never learned. But Harry didn't see the point of this story.

"Yeah I remember. So?"

"You thanked me afterwards, called me your friend." It pressed, and Harry sighed.

"I was a child and you saved me. I thanked you. I didn't understand what you were. Do you think that one incident when I was a child is going to change anything?"

"I had hoped it would help you see that I'm not simply your negative emotions. Though a lot of me is. I'll freely admit that I'm mostly your hate, violence, greed and other assorted 'horrible' things. But originally, all I was was a little bubble of abandoned kindness. I cant tell you everything, because now it seems as if you'll recall all this before your time. But Voldemort should stand testament to the fact that no man should be without half himself. Which he is, I can assure you. You'll end up like him. Or worse. Only where he knows he is cruel and unforgiving, you'll fully believe that you're just and righteous."

All Harry could connect in his head was that the Creature was originally happiness, presumably Voldemort's happiness.

"So you're his abandoned emotions?" Harry's eyes were wide, though he didn't know why he had never thought of it.

"That's not what I was getting at," It seemed wary, like it wanted to push away from him again.

"Well that's what I got from it. You're not just a piece of his magic, are you?"

"I never said that's all I was," It said, becoming increasingly uncomfortable.

"That's what you let me believe," Harry pressed.

"Don't drink the potion, Harry. I'm warning you."

"A month ago, you were a crazy ass demon thing telling me you hoped Voldemort would eat my skin." Harry said, raising his eyebrows in challenge.

"A month ago, I was almost entirely your emotions. Now some are back in you. Don't you feel more balanced? Besides, how could I feel compassion towards you, when all you wanted was to see me gone?"

"I still want to see you gone." Harry corrected, stubbornly ignoring the truth in the Other's words. Nothing that was born in Voldemort could be good.

"I can't be gone!" It screamed at him, spitting in his eyes.

"I'll be with you till the day you fucking die!"

* * *

Harry woke with an angry voice ringing in his ears, making him frown in confusion.

He felt conflicted about something he couldn't even remember.

"Don't drink the potion, Harry. I'm warning you." Rang in his head like a bell toll, repeating over and over, until it was to quiet for him to hear.

When his headmaster came to give him the potion, Harry took it and stared at the bottle before taking it, feeling increasingly worried by it, and hoping that the bottle might give him answers.

When it did not, he turned to Dumbledore.

"Sir, this isn't a nourishment potion, is it?"

The headmaster didn't miss a beat. "Of course it is, what would make you think that it isn't?"

Harry frowned at the bottle he was turning in his hands.

"I- I don't know," Harry answered, because he couldn't explain the feeling he had.

"I wouldn't lie to you my boy. Drink up, you'll feel better."

Harry didn't agree with that logic, but he unstopped the bottle anyway, bringing it to his lips and watching his headmaster for any signs of deceit.

At first he thought that this dose was easier to take, it went down without burning, tasting only mildly disgusting.

After a few seconds though, pain spread from his stomach through to every limb, moving so thoroughly that he felt it in his tongue.

He let out a scream that startled the Headmaster, who stood and reached for Harry.

"Don't you touch me you piece of shit," Harry rasped out, rolling off the bed to escape the man, howling when he hit the ground.

The pain had intensified so that he had to check that he was not legitimately being cleaved in half.

"You just wait! Just wait!" He yelled at the headmaster, though he didn't actually mean to say anything. He wasn't even sure what he meant.

"Harry, let it go," Dumbledore soothed, though he looked alarmed.

Harry growled and thrashed till he made himself sick, throwing up on the floor once again. The potion burned coming up, serving to make him choke on the vomit.

He expected to pass out soon, or he hoped for it. No one could take this much without losing grip.


	8. Acceptance

_Take the pill; Emilie Autumn_

_Take the pill that makes you weaker  
Take the pill that makes you sick  
Take the pill or you'll be sorry  
Take this bloody pill and make it quick _

_Take the pill that makes you cry  
Take the pill that burns your insides  
Take the pill that makes you want to die  
Just be careful what you say...  
Today could be your day... _

_You no longer rule your body  
You no longer own those rights  
You will wake up when we say so  
You will sleep when we shut out the lights  
Enjoy your stay...  
'Cause you can't run away... _

_Take the pill that keeps you quiet  
Take the pill that keeps you blind  
Take the pill that wipes your memory  
Take the pill that's fucking with your mind  
That's all you have to lose...  
That's funny..._

* * *

The first thing Harry noticed, waking up, was that his head throbbed with an intensity he'd never felt before.

The second were the weird little images that flashed about. A blackened man hissing at him, yelling, changing. Raising his wand to the sky and muttering a spell he'd never heard before.

He flinched against them, opening his eyes and pressing his palm to his forehead, hard.

The third thing he noticed was Mad Eye Moody, sitting in the guest chair and watching him intensely.

Harry jumped a little at the sight, holding his head harder when the movement jarred him.

There was something about Moody that he felt he should be remembering.

"Still not well, Mister Potter?" His tone was accusatory, and Harry felt the need to justify himself.

"Er, no, sir. Professor Dumbledore says I should be alright after my next potion," His voice trailed off when he said 'potion,' something about the word making him want to flee. He took a deep breath and meet the professors eye again, trying to hide the random and irrational fear.

"Not feeling to good about that idea, are you? Tell me, boy, any strange dreams? Odd feelings?" He looked knowing, as if he knew Harry would say yes.

There was something, niggling at him and resisting him all at the same time.

The hesitation was enough confirmation for Moody.

"That's because of the potion he's giving you. I don't know why he's forcing it on you, but he is. I suppose you feel retched after you take it?"

Harry nodded despite himself, a little bubble of hope rising in his chest, though he wasn't sure why. Why would Dumbledore give him something that would make him sick?

"He said it was a nourishment potion," Harry told Moody, confused.

"Ah, he did, did he? Do you feel malnourished at all? Before the potion?"

Harry bowed his head, frowning. The answer to that was no. absolutely no. In fact he had never felt better.

Odd seizure notwithstanding.

But it seemed as though, if he said that, he would be incriminating the headmaster for something he didn't yet understand.

There was something not quite right, he could feel that, could almost understand it. But his mind resisted and assisted all at once, making his memory stagnant and unmoving. Like a brick wall he could almost see through.

"I, I felt okay, I guess. But I had this seizure and-"

"I'm going to help you, boy. The next potion is going to be different from the last. It will still hurt, but you need to make it look as if it hurt a lot more than it's going to."

Harry blinked, not understanding the turn that the conversation had taken. Moody leaned in close, both eyes focused and intent.

"Dumbledore thinks this potion is for the best, but he is wrong. You have to make it look more painful. It's for your own good that he thinks he's been successful. Leave the rest to me," Mad Eye gave a lopsided grin and plucked several hairs from Harry's head, making him gasp and flinch back.

"Just leave the rest to me," He repeated, standing to leave the teen on his own.

As the day passed by, achingly slowly, Harry became increasingly nervous.

He didn't know what moody had planned, but it set his mind on edge, like he was doing something illegal.

When his headmaster entered the room, looking as carefree as ever, it made him a little less nervous. That meant that Moody probably hadn't been caught doing whatever it was that he was doing. He found himself hoping that Mad Eye had succeeded, because he didn't want to feel the pain he had felt last time ever again.

"Ah, my boy. How are you feeling?" Dumbledore asked, smiling.

"Er, okay. My head hurts a bit." He said, frowning at the headmaster and looking for any signs of guilt.

When he found none, he didn't know whether it was because he didn't feel guilty, or because he wasn't doing anything wrong.

"This is the last one. I promise you that you'll feel one hundred percent better, after this." He passed the teen the bottle, and he eyed it carefully. It looked the same as the last three, and for a moment Harry feared that Moody had been unsuccessful. He shoved the fear down and decided it didn't matter, anyway.

He had no choice, for one thing. For another, he still wasn't sure if Mad Eye was to be trusted. He just couldn't believe that Dumbledore would give something harmful, intentionally.

He watched the professor carefully as he uncorked the little grey bottle, putting it to his lips and closing his eyes.

One quick swig later, he realised that he knew the taste. It wasn't the potion he had been taking for the last three days.

It was Polyjuice.

Harry gagged, holding his throat and trying to put a little more theatrics into what was, admittedly, mild pain.

He'd never been a good actor, but he did his best.

He wasn't concerned about turning into someone else, remembering Moody's seemingly random act of yanking his hair out earlier.

He ended his performance by 'passing out' on his bed, making near silent Choking noises and clutching his head.

It seemed it was enough, because Dumbledore left him, and Harry didn't know whether or not he had done the right thing.

His false sleep became real sleep soon enough.

* * *

The Other already looked healthier, and where they were fused no longer burned.

Harry cursed under his breath, damning his stupid self. He'd almost been rid of this thing, now he didn't know what would happen to him, not to mention his friends.

"I can't say I'm not grateful, though I'm sure if you knew, you wouldn't have accepted Moody's help." The Creature said, his face mere millimetres from Harry's. Though he tried to pull away, it was a lost cause. They were almost one, now. Already.

The Boy Who Lived didn't say anything, his anger at himself was pungent.

"We'll be one," The Thing said reverently.

"Shut up," Harry hissed, though the anger wasn't for the Other, it was for himself. He'd turned away from the handsome thing, his eyes shut tight. He was biting his lip and wondering how long he had left. How long until he became a danger to those he loved.

"Harry," It whispered, but he didn't turn to face it.

"There's nothing wrong with becoming what you were meant to be. How can I make you see that you aren't whole? Can't you feel this?" The Other placed its hand on Harry's chest, where his dream heart was beating. It then grasped his hand and put it on it's own heart. Harry didn't move when the Creatures hand crept back to his chest. They stood in silence for a moment, the teen feeling both his own blood pumping, and the creatures, beating in perfect tandem.

"We were never meant to be apart. The bizarre circumstances that separated us were only ever temporary. You shouldn't be afraid of yourself. Who are you to judge you? You won't stop loving the ones you love. You will be no more a danger to them then you are now."

Harry wanted this to be true. Desperately. He cautiously glanced back at the Creature, who was looking at him with hope, his hand pressing harder into Harry's chest.

"But you're a part of Voldemort," He insisted, though it sounded weak to his ears.

"I'm mostly you, Harry. I'm only guilty of being abandoned by him, accidentally, in you."

"If you stop resisting me, this could be over so much quicker," The Other sensed Harry's indecision, and acted on it, pushing him into acceptance.

Harry stared into the Creatures eyes for a long moment, considering its words.

What choice did he have? His only other option had blown out with Moody's interference. The only way he could even remember this while awake was for it to be done.

Resisting seemed futile, pointless. What would he accomplish? Besides, the Other wasn't so bad now, now that they were balanced, in sync. He seemed normal, maybe even like someone he wouldn't mind being bound to.

"I-" Harry began, but the Creature interrupted him before he could finish by placing its hand tenderly on his cheek.

"Let me in," It whispered, caressing him gently and making Harry's eyes half close.

"What other choice do I have?" He whispered back, his heart skipping a beat. He felt the Other's do the same, his hand still placed on its chest.

"None. No other option." It's face was very close now, Harry could taste its breath. Like winter, logs burning and cold air.

Harry felt himself leaning into it, wanting to really taste it, to take this thing back into himself.

"No other choice," Harry whispered, and the Other pressed his lips to Harry's, tentatively, and the Teen groaned, pushing back. The Creature hissed in approval and slid his tongue into Harry's mouth, and he noticed that it did taste like winter.

"Okay," Harry mumbled, pressing his forehead against his Other's.

"Okay," He said again, louder, because now he wanted this with more fervour than he had ever wanted anything.

"We'll be one," The Other whispered, kissing Harry again.

The teen could feel them joining, their hearts becoming one, beating hard against his ribcage. Their minds joining, memories that weren't his were flashing fast past his eyes, colours and places and people melting into each other.

Before he had time to open his eyes, the Other was gone.

* * *

Harry remembered everything.

He had been the one to cast the Mosmorda at the sky that night at the Quiddich world cup.

Moody was working for the Dark Lord.

He had a piece of Voldemort in him.

Dumbledore lied with more ease than Harry had thought possible.

He was joined to a creature that was more dark than he had ever been, and it's tongue tasted like winter.

And that was all okay.

"Harry, you awake mate? Dumbledore says you can come back today, if you're feeling up to it," Ron was awfully excited, Harry decided as he opened his eyes.

Hermione stood just behind Ron, to the left. She watched Harry with concern.

"How are you feeling, Harry? Professor Dumbledore said that the last dose took a lot out of you," She asked, taking a step forward as if to place a hand on Harry's head.

"Fine, I'm fine. Brilliant, even." He answered, sitting up and smiling at them.

He realised now that his fears were unfounded.

He didn't feel dangerous or unstable.

He felt complete.

Finally.


	9. Defence

_You are the hole in my head _

_You are the space in my bed_

_You are the silence in between what I thought_

_And what I said_

_You are the night time fear,_

_You are the morning when it's clear_

_When it's over you'll start,_

_You're my head,_

_You're my heart._

_No light no light in your bright blue eyes,_

_I never knew daylight could be so violent._

_A revelation in the light of day,_

_You can't choose what stays and what fades away._

_No Light No Light; Florence and the Machine._

* * *

It took a little while for everything to slide into place in his head. He and his Other had vastly different views, vastly different knowledge.

Harry knew now that he was a Horcrux, for instance, and that some of Tom Riddles old memories lived in his head.

Though they were shattered and sharp, hard to look at without being sliced.

Harry also remembered what had happened to him while he had been unconscious, during the time he had been held captive.

His Other and the Dark Lord had spoken civilly, trading ideas and discussing the safest manner of removing a Horcrux, without destroying it. It was the Other who offered to combine with Harry.

"_My Lord, I don't believe you can remove this Horcrux without damaging it. He's piled every negative thing he's ever felt on top of it." Harry's mouth said. _

"_So I must kill him?" Voldemort asked, red eyes flashing._

"_Maybe not," The Other said quickly. _

"_You could bind us, he'll be more willing to do as you wish. If you can't remove your soul piece, why not make it agreeable?"_

Harry had smiled mutely at these memories. They didn't bother him. He found his Other's insistence amusing.

Endearing almost.

Harry knew that he would have to talk to Dumbledore at some point, because the purpose of the potion that had been forced on him was to make him remember.

So he'd have to tell the Headmaster that he had something in him that came from Voldemort.

He would only divulge what the Other had told him, nothing from it's memories. He wouldn't tell the Professor that he was a Horcrux, nor that he remembered what had happened to him when the Dark Lord had him.

Right at that moment he sat between Ron and Hermione in the common room, the two of them forming a shield against the curious students that got to close.

He felt a bit like a child, but overall he was grateful not to talk to anyone about his seizure. He now knew that the seizure was a result of the beginning of the fusion, not due to any malnourishment as the Headmaster said, or due to some sort of traumatic reaction, as Hermione believed.

It was mid Sunday morning, and he and his two best friends had only just collapsed on the Common room sofa after the trek from the Hospital wing.

He knew that he would have to seek the Headmaster out, it would seem strange if Harry did nothing, a bit to suspicious for a wizard who had, seemingly, been a hairs breadth away from fusing with a piece of the Dark Lord's soul, as well as every violent emotion he'd ever felt.

He had to play the part of the concerned and confused child martyr.

"Are you alright, mate? You have this awful look on your face," Ron had his hand on Harry's shoulder, making him jump slightly.

"Er, yeah, sorry. I have to talk to Dumbledore," Harry stood quickly, forcing the bubble of anger to heel.

"What's wrong, Harry?" Hermione's concerned voice broke through his haze, and he shook his head.

"It's fine, just something I forgot to say earlier, might be important," He held his hands up, trying to keep them seated, because they both looked about to stand.

He pushed out of the portrait hole, ignoring the curious faces and slamming the fat lady shut behind him, leaning up against the painting and making the woman within scoff indignantly.

He took a deep steadying breath, trying to keep his cool. Nothing had even happened, and he could barely contain himself.

He could see this becoming a problem.

Not to most people, because he was entitled to a little post traumatic stress, for once, but to his Headmaster, this would be a clear indication that his potion plan had failed.

And Harry didn't know whether or not he had a back up plan.

But he needed to see the Headmaster, as soon as possible, because not going was equally suspicious.

He took another breath and looked down at his shaking hands.

"Alright mate?"

Harry glanced up at Seamus, trying to smile. The other boy had come from no where, or so Harry thought.

"Yeah, sorry," He moved away from the portrait, earning himself another scolding from the Fat Lady.

"Treating me as if I were a common wall. The nerve," She muttered to Seamus, opening without asking for the password, such was her fury.

Harry left without a word of apology to the portrait.

* * *

"Come in, Harry."

He did as he was bid, opening the door and stepping into the Headmaster's office.

"I'm sorry professor, I meant to tell you straight away, but Ron and Hermione came and-" Harry began, and Dumbledore interrupted him, as he hoped the elder man would.

"What's the matter, my boy?" The Headmaster steeped his fingers and leaned forward, nodding to the empty chair across from him.

Harry sat, trying to look guilty, or something. He couldn't tell how he would have felt before. Disgusted? Scared?

He had felt those things, to begin with. So he went with that.

"There's, well, there's something in me," Harry whispered, pointing to himself and staring at the Headmaster with more intensity than was probably warranted.

"I think it, I mean, I know it is; a part of Voldemort."

Dumbledore had the gall to look taken aback for a moment.

"How can you be sure?" He asked, leaning even closer, studying Harry.

"This morning, when I woke up, I remembered. It spoke to me in my dreams, and- it changed a lot, it was all black to begin with, then it was normal, almost. It wore a suit- like a Muggle one. Then it got sick, or something, and I remembered. I couldn't remember it before, I would forget as soon as I woke up. I thought maybe there was something wrong, because I started sleep walking. That night at the Quiddich world cup. I think that I might have, um. Well that's how I ended up outside the wards, anyway. That's how they caught me. Because it was making me sleep walk." Harry fumbled over his words, intentionally, putting emphasis on 'Remembering'. He'd dropped a hint that he didn't know what he had been doing the night of the world cup, but didn't mention actually knowing what he had done.

"Are you certain, Harry?" Dumbledore looked grave, and Harry wondered what the man would do. As far as he knew, the Horcrux had been pushed down, separated. There was no need for him to do anything, but he thought that Harry had no idea what he had done.

He couldn't be inactive, that was suspicious.

"And then what happened? Do you believe that it's gone?"

Harry pondered what he would have done in this situation.

He couldn't appear to sure of himself. He would have insisted that the Headmaster make sure it was gone, that he didn't know how to tell.

But he didn't want the professor looking to far into it, in case there was a way to tell whether or not the potion had succeeded.

He wondered if there was a way to force them apart now that they were whole. It was a worrying thought.

"I, I think so. It was worried, it said something was happening and I had to stop it, but I didn't and then I remembered everything."

Dumbledore nodded, his chin on his hands.

"We'll have to keep a close eye on you, then. If what you say is true, then something must have forced it out."

Harry should have figured that he needn't have worried.

The Headmaster was confident that the potion had done its job, he had no way of knowing about Moody's interference. Harry's own concern only steadied the elder man's belief that he was victorious.

He was safe. No one was going to dig too deep. He could be himself, now.

The headmaster let him go without much else, a few questions about how Harry thought he had gotten the piece of Voldemort, to which he said he didn't know.

Which he didn't.

That thought led to another, more interesting thought.

What was he going to do about that situation? Clearly Voldemort no longer wanted him dead, and Harry no longer gave a toss what the man did.

In fact Harry almost felt like he was watching a game, and all of the sudden he was more inclined to root for the Dark Lord's team.

But his loved ones wouldn't really enjoy that idea.

He figured he did need to talk to the man, though. About what it meant to be a Horcrux.

Did that mean that they were no longer enemies?

From what his Other remembered, or maybe he could call it Himself, now, the Dark Lord seemed as if he didn't want Harry to die.

Which was all well and good, for him.

He thought about talking to Moody, who seemed to know a great deal about his combined self; but decided to wait until the next defence lesson, which was thankfully, the next day.

* * *

Harry slept better that night than he ever had in his life.

The rest of that day had been uneventful, besides on altercation with Goyle, who had mumbled something about Hermione's blood as they passed; Making Harry snap and shove the larger boy against the wall, snarling. Goyle had stayed stock still, fleeing when The Boy Who Lived let him go.

All in all, that was okay. It wasn't entirely unusual that Harry would defend his friends honour violently, and one could argue that it was the only way to get Slytherin's to see sense. Besides that, Harry didn't feel to out of control in that situation. He wanted to disembowel the Slytherin, sure, but he wasn't in danger of actually doing it.

He couldn't figure out why he had been so against taking back what he'd taken out. Though he was sure that he'd have a few speed bumps, he was also sure he was going to be fine. Better than he had been before, even.

Defence was his third class that Monday, and Harry found that his leg bounced impatiently through every lesson.

When he finally walked into the defence classroom, he shot Mad Eye a meaningful look, or what he hoped was a look that got the point across.

Moody did nothing but stare at him, so Harry didn't know whether he looked meaningful or constipated.

They had this class with the Slytherin's, and Goyle gave him a wide berth, not even looking at him. Crabbe seemed to do the same, and Malfoy seemed confused by the pair of them, openly sneering at Harry and his friends.

When everyone was seated, the professor spoke.

"I'll need a volunteer for this one," He said, giving Harry a pointed look.

The Boy Who Lived stood quickly, though it didn't look as if anyone else had been about to stand.

"Stand here, Potter."

Harry came to stand directly in front of Mad Eye, once again giving him a look that the older man promptly ignored.

"I trust that some of you have heard of Legilimency," He asked the group at large, though Harry noticed his eyes lingered on Hermione, who's hand shot up in the air.

"Sir, that's mind reading," She said curtly, and Moody nodded.

"That's correct, five points to Gryffindor."

Harry looked over his shoulder at his friend, smiling. She looked concerned all of a sudden, and he assumed that was because Mad Eye was probably about to enter his mind.

He was okay with that, but Hermione seemed worried on his behalf.

He figured it was all the better for Moody to see that he and his Other had combined, instead of just hearing it from his mouth.

"For those of you who aren't aware of how it works, allow me to demonstrate. Make eye contact with me boy,"

Harry did as he was told, staring at the professors good eye, because the other one was flailing as if it was trying to escape.

"Legilimens,"

Harry didn't feel anything, and he wondered if the man had performed the spell correctly.

"And that's it. Of course, it's not necessary to speak the incantation, once the caster is skilled enough. Otherwise the spell is useless. Your target knows what you're doing before you do it if you go about shouting 'Legilimens.'"

"But I didn't feel anything," Harry said.

"Of course you didn't." moody said gruffly, shooing him back to his seat.

"But you can rest assured that I saw the last three months of your life,"

Harry sat down next to Hermione and nodded curtly at the professor, knowing that he now knew that his potion swap had been successful, and he could talk to the man about what he should do next.

Maybe Moody could take him to the Dark Lord.

"Three months!?" Hermione asked, outraged.

"That quickly?!"

"Miss Granger, if I were any less experienced I might have only seen two."

"It's that easy to get inside someone's head?" Harry asked, interrupting what was clearly becoming an argument about morals and such.

"It takes a lot of training," Moody answered, nodding at Harry's worry.

If it was that easy, anyone could see what he was now.

"How many people can do it?"

"A few. Some are even in this castle."

Harry baulked, blinking fast at the professor.

"And the defence against it?" Harry pressed.

"Occlumency. Though it is equally difficult. Of course one could avoid eye contact."

The rest of the class had fallen silent, and Harry realised that he was acting oddly, and shook the fear off, for now.

"It's clear you've taken quite an interest, boy. Stay behind after class and we can discuss it further."

Harry tuned much of the rest of the lesson out. All he really wanted to know now was who the other mind readers were, so he could avoid them.

Hermione left reluctantly, looking over her shoulder at Harry as if she'd never see him again.

He gave her an encouraging smile and shooed her off, eager to speak to Moody privately.

"I'm feeling pretty combined today sir," Harry said in case the mind reading wasn't enough.

"I could tell by the numerous looks you gave me," He said drily.

"Right," Harry didn't know how to begin.

"So, you knew, about-"

"Yes, I did. He told me to keep an eye on you and intervene; if it looked as if you might not complete the transition." Moody answered.

"Do you know what he wants?" Was Harry's next question.

"I'm not the one you should be asking,"

"Then who should I ask?"

"Him," Mad Eye threw something small his way and he caught it quite by accident.

It was a small bag of floo powder.

Moody gestured to his office.

"There's a fireplace in there. The powder will take you there, no need for you to know where you're going."

"So it'll take me to the Dark Lord?" Harry asked, needing to know for sure.

"Keep your voice down, boy! Who'd you think it was taking you to, Merlin?"

Harry bowed his head, feeling stupid.

"Okay, sorry. So just throw the powder in and that's it?"

Moody nodded, looking exasperated and gesturing to the stairs.

Harry climbed them, half expecting Mad Eye to follow, but he didn't.

He threw the powder into the waiting fire and stepped in, feeling giddy. He was finally going to get some answers. Or so he hoped.

He watched hundreds of other fireplaces flash by, until he came to a stop that caused him to roll out unceremoniously, coughing in the cloud of soot. He realised that he hadn't asked who the other mind readers were and mentally smacked himself.

"I've been expecting you," A voice said before he could look up.

Harry knew the Dark Lord only from the memories his Other had; during the time he was held captive. He was bald, had slitted nostrils and red glowing eyes. A snake coiled around his shoulders that was big enough to possibly eat him whole. He was seated in a throne like chair, deep red like his eyes. The fire behind Harry crackled and spat, seeming to be angrier than the average set of flames.

All in all, Harry felt pretty unaffected.

He supposed the Dark Lord might be fearsome, to someone who cared about that kind of thing.

"Why don't you take a seat," Voldemort gestured regally to the empty chaise lounge. The teen stood and dusted himself off, not caring much for the rug.

"We have a lot to talk about," Harry said as he sat, looking the snake in the eyes as he did. It watched him with interest, and he gave it a small smile.

"Indeed we do," The Dark Lord agreed.


End file.
